


100 Thunderstorms

by CosmicJ_Writing



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, F/M, LDR, Long-Distance Relationship, Sex, Smut, Thunderstorms, bellarke fluff - Freeform, bellarke smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-11
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-05-13 04:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5694988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmicJ_Writing/pseuds/CosmicJ_Writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Writing prompt: Your otp has been in a long distance relationship for three years. One of them, decides to make a surprise appearance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	100 Thunderstorms

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure if it's all that great, but I hope you enjoy! It probably needs more corrections. I sort of wrote this late at night.

Bellamy’s foot tapped nonstop on the floor of his car, the other carefully not pressing hard on the pedal. Damn. His heart hammered, like a wild creature trying to break free. You know that moment in life where your cheeks are hot and you were super nervous about something? Now multiply that by say, a hundred. It seemed, his heart hammered a hundred beats per minute, his tapping foot following suite.

He was going to see his girlfriend of 3 years, who lived in the state of Kentucky. Luckily, Kentucky was not far from South Carolina. He had been driving for three days, all the way to a small suburban county. He read a sign, “Welcome to Grounders County, the Home of the Barbarians!” He smiled, pressing harder on the gas.

“Well, well! Carolina Boy finally finds wifi!” Clarke said sarcastically, “I’ve gotten a hundred years older!”

“Shut up and tell me you miss me.” He ordered playfully. She pouted on the other side of the camera. For three years they Skyped, probably enough to be tired of each other’s faces. However, Bellamy never did tire of seeing the sexy face that belonged only to Clarke Griffin.

“Guess, who got her car today.” Clarke clapped her hands, much like a baby on weed. Her face was lit up with pride. “That’ right! I got a Ford Explorer! She’s blue!”

“Well congrats, you managed to find your favorite color. While I found food to fill my stomach and a bouquet of these beautiful sun kissed, orange Skyreachers.”

Bellamy reached behind him through the open window of his car. He stopped forty minutes ago. “These particular flowers reminded me of you.”

“I’m not orange.” She said, spinning in her office chair on the other side of the camera.  
“You sure?” He grinned cheekily.

“I work with horses. That just means extra sun time.” She explained, but Bellamy shook his head.

“Babe, I’m going to have to mute you real quick.”  
“Why?” Clarke quit spinning in her chair, her face scrunching up in the way that makes her look like an angry bunny rabbit. Bellamy didn’t answer. He muted Skype, trotting up the steps and into the lobby of where Clarke stayed.

“Sir? Hi, I’d like to order some Champaign for room ‘one hundred?’ Thank you.” Bellamy slid a fifty dollar bill across the counter. “I’ll pay the rest before I leave, if you have no trouble with that.

“Of course sir. Are you staying, or are you just visiting?” The old man behind the desk, smiled. Bellamy mirrored him.

“Visiting.” He answered.

When he entered the elevator, he pushed a button. He pulled on the lapels of his leather jacket, wondering if he was too underdressed. Clarke wasn’t one for dressing up, and to be honest, neither was he. He wore his favorite pair of combat boots and cargo pants, and a shirt that hugged his frame. Of course, he couldn’t leave without his dark leather jacket, that had a warm woolly inside, and a hoody for the windy days.

It seemed each step he took, made the pulse in his ear loader. Were he a poet, he would have written it as, “With each landing of a foot, the thunderstorm inside him grew wilder, frantic, as it clawed away at his innards. Within him, gravity had no more hold as he felt lifted into the air. He was tossed around, like a rag doll in a child’s pair of hands. Within him, a thunderstorm roared, and only she, the maiden that awaited him, could silence it.”

He was no poet, but damn, a hurricane raged in his chest. He knocked three times, at the door in front of him, quickly moving to the side before she could look through her peephole. He flattened himself to the wall, biting his lip. This was the moment.

“John, if that’s you, I’m out of sugar. I’m sorry, but you’re mother really needs too buy her own-”

She was beautiful up close, with golden hair knotted into a messy bun. A thin layer of sweat coated her face, her teeth sparkly white because she absolutely hates stains. Her legs aren’t shaved. He knows because she has her lady trials were she does everything to physically refresh herself. Refreshing Day is tomorrow. Her make up is kept to a minor. Actually, some eye liner is smudged a tiny bit and Bellamy, honest to God thinks its fucking sexy. Her shirt is a mess, her sweat pants have a stain on the left leg. He can imagine her getting so mad because she hates messing up, especially her clothes. She’s bare foot, the nail polish almost gone.  
Bellamy swallowed hard, certain feelings pooling into his sacred area. She was open-mouthed, a lock of hair falling over her forehead. He smiled, not afraid to confess that a few tears fell over his cheeks.

“Bellamy!” Her arms shot around his neck as he pulled her in by her slightly thick-ish waist. The thunderstorm inside him, quieted down, and he realized something. It was just her, and himself at the eye of the storm. Fuck, did he love her. He loved every God damn inch of this woman. He knew how badly she thought of herself. She was confident, but he knew how she felt about her flaws. He didn’t understand what flaws she thought she had, he really didn’t. She was so damn sexy, he didn’t want to take his hands off of her. Not after finally holding her, after three shit-faced years of torture. He buried his face her shoulder, his body shaking.

“There’s a quote.” He said, grinning and sniffling when he pulled away. “One hundred thunderstorms, and you’ve calmed every one."


End file.
